When You Know
by Initial A
Summary: Steve's POV. "Part of me will always be surprised that she ever said yes."


**When You Know…**

**By: InitialA**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Marvel universe.**

* * *

Part of me will always be surprised that she ever said yes.

I know that it's because I know about my own history, and the difference between who I was and who I am now. She doesn't.

Or at least, I think she doesn't.

She probably does.

She's Nat. She knows everything.

But I know I'm still this sickly little kid at heart. A kid whose mouth runs faster than his brain can keep up, and tell him to keep quiet. I just have the body to back up my words now.

And she's Nat. She's not afraid of anything. I shoot my mouth off and get into fights about it; meanwhile she's in a corner calculating sixteen ways this can be used against me and my opponent in the future, and then end the fight in one move. Then she'll toss her hair back, do that thing where she smiles at me with just her eyes, and then drag me off to ah… well, I probably shouldn't say. It's not decent.

She's very fluid. Going to official events, I'm still figuring out how to not look like an idiot. She's by my side, sweeping me along with her like she's a river and I'm Tom Sawyer on the raft. She's very cool and collected. Luckily, having her nearby means all the dames keep off to the edges. They're very catty, giving us very dirty looks and talking behind her back. I mentioned it to Nat once, and she just laughed. Stark said something about starting a harem. Miss Potts said it was normal jealousy, and that some people were better at hiding theirs than others. The Avengers hanger-ons apparently were bad at hiding theirs.

I don't know if I'll ever know why she said yes. She's sleeping right now; she nodded off during the movie we were watching. We're going slowly through the decades. _Citizen Kane_ is apparently a classic, but it's a very long classic, and I haven't been following enough to know what's going on.

I started sketching her not long ago. She doesn't look so dangerous when she's asleep. She's even relaxed. When I catch her napping anywhere but my place or hers, she's very tense. She wakes up quickly, at the slightest thing. Now, though… I'd probably be able to take her back to the bedroom and she wouldn't wake up.

I shift a little, to balance my sketchbook better, and it wakes her. So much for that, then. She blinks at me, and she looks disoriented. Another sign that she's relaxed. Nat always knows where she is, and the twenty nearest exits or pigeon-holes in which to attack while remaining shielded.

"What time is it?" She asks, her voice husky with sleep.

"Not too late," I reply, starting a new sketch. Just-woken-up Natasha is a sight to capture on paper.

She snatches at the sketchbook. "Rogers, don't draw me when I'm sleeping!"

"You aren't sleeping right now," I point out. I'm only 'Rogers' when she's miffed at me. I don't understand why she's uncomfortable with my drawing her, and ask.

"It's… private. When I'm with you. It's just us, and I want it to be just us. No 'capturing the moments'. You can't live the moments if you're capturing them," she says, but she's looking at the drawings anyway.

"I'd still do it later," I say. "I'd watch you sleep, I'd know the way your body drapes across the couch like that. I take pictures with my mind."

She's quiet for a while. The movie's still going in the background, but I'd turned the volume down ages ago. "I don't want to let the others know what you do," she says finally.

That has me confused. I say so. "You know this side of me. Clint doesn't even know this side of me. He thinks he does, but he doesn't. And I want it to stay that way. I only want you to know this side of me," Nat explains.

"I don't show anyone my sketches, Nat."

"Keep it that way."

It's her way of saying fine, draw me if you have to. She's put her guard up though, I can tell from the way she's sitting. Her posture is too good. That won't do at all. I risk at least twelve broken bones, but I grab onto her and pull her in anyway. She curses in Russian—I can tell it's a curse because it's angrier than the language usually sounds—and struggles, but I have the advantage and hang on. "Rogers, I swear I will end you…"

"Why did you say yes?"

The question throws her off guard—I take pride in that, because Natasha Romanoff is not one to be taken off guard easily. "To what?"

"To me."

Her left eyebrow quirks up. It's a tic I've noticed, one that tells me I'm about to get a sarcastic answer. I brace myself. "You're the first genuine person I've ever met," Nat says, surprising me.

"What?"

"You're a golden retriever. Not as much as Thor, but you are. I think it would actually kill you to lie. You're open and honest; you have the moral compass of a saint. You're a decent human being, and that's hard to find these days."

"I'm an idiot who can't keep his mouth shut."

"You're an idiot who has saved everyone's lives at least twice, and it's because you're an idiot that any of us are alive. No one would have run in after Banner and Stark last month, not with that building about to go. Except you, because you knew it was the right thing to do, even if it was a completely stupid thing to do."

A lot of people say that Nat doesn't talk unless she has to. That she saves her words, so they mean more when she says them. They're partially right: she talks a lot where she's comfortable, but she also knows what to say and make it stick. This is one of those times. She finally relaxes against me. "I'm more concerned about what kind of idiot asks the deadliest assassin in the world on a date…"

"One who appreciates her for everything she's worth, not just how good she is in a fight."

I feel stupid, not listing off why I love her in return, but it's too many. She's cultured. She's a trained dancer. She's a damn good cook, not that we don't spend an equal amount of time abusing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s accounts by ordering takeout. She speaks twelve languages, and five of them fluently. She's attractive, adventurous, doesn't make fun of me for not understanding the twenty-first century like some of the others. "I also have a thing for dames with guns in their hands."

She chuckles. "I love it when you talk 1940s to me," she teases.

"I knew," I say. "That's all it comes down to. I knew that I wanted you."

"When you know, you know," she says.

I know.


End file.
